Remember the Names
by Runt the Brave
Summary: "She fought to her last breath. She fought to give her friends time to escape. She fought because-even if she died-it would give her friends the chance to live. And then she got turned into a tree."


**Disclaimer: Not mine, I can't claim anything as good as Rick Riordan's stuff.**

**Spoilers: Sea of Monsters mostly, but all of Thalia's life is up for grabs.**

**A/N: Well, this is my first Percy Jackson fanfiction. If you could please tell me what's wrong with it, then, I'd love that. So. Enjoy. I hope. Or hate it. That's good too!  
**

Remember the Names

_ Running. Panting. Running. The scent of fear in the air. Cries of pain. Running. Running. Running. Never stopping. Never slowing. It was always running. This time had been for life or death. Racing up hill with monsters on their heals. The satyr had led the way, sprinting on his hoofed legs._

_ The boy was half dragging, half carrying the exhausted little girl. Blond curls were matted with sweat and dirt and blood. They had to get her to safety. They had promised that she would be okay._

_ But the monsters were closer now._

_ The boy, sandy hair matted to his forehead, looking over his shoulder. "Thalia!"_

_ "Go!" The older girl screamed. He tried to slow down, but the older girl pointed a finger at the younger one. "Get her to safety!"_

_ "No!"_

_ "Go!"_

_ He turned and continued running, still dragging the younger girl. "COME ON!"_

_ "There's no chance!" She had crested the top of the hill and then turned. Sword and shield raised, she screeched at the monsters. "COME AND GET ME YOU VERMIN!"_

_ The monsters charged._

_ She swung her sword._

_ Self-trained._

_ Inexperienced._

_ Determined._

_ A winner._

_ Those words described the girl and she fought the impossible foe. All of the monsters clustered around her, swiping with their claws, biting with their jaws, and the girl didn't have much hope. But she was determined to win. Because winning was everything._

_ She fought to her last breath. She fought to give her friends time to escape. She fought because-even if she died-it would give her friends the chance to live._

And then she got turned into a tree.

A tree that didn't remember her friends' names.

The tree did not experience the passage of time. She didn't remember past life, old times, except for the warm glow of friendship and two faces. One, a boy's face. Happy, cheerful, and yet depressed at the same times. She could remember how he shook his sandy-blond hair from his eyes when they fought. She could remember the icy cold glare in his blue eyes. She could remember how he would fight beside, and fight with her life. But she could not remember his name.

The tree did not understand what the seasons were, or why some of her needles would turn a sickly color before turning green again. The passage of time was just a minor thing, just a hint of what her life used to be. But the tree couldn't remember her old life, so she didn't care.

The tree did not experience the passage of time. She didn't remember past life, old times, except for the warm glow of friendship and two faces. One, a little girl's face. Like a little princess, blond curls usually matted and dirty. She could remember the excitement on the girl's face when the boy had given her a knife. She could remember the joy when the three of them became a family. She could remember how the gray eyes would cloud with pain. She could remember how that little girl was too mature for her age, how smart she was, how understand and astute. But she could not remember her name.

The tree did not understand what the season were, or why sometimes it would be hot and she still wore her needles in a thick coat of solar panels and then it would be cold, and her solar panels were still there, a comfort in the cold. The passage of time was just a minor thing, just a hint of what her life used to be. But the tree couldn't remember her old life, so she didn't care.

The tree did not understand repetition.

Often, the blond haired girl would come and sit at the trunk of the tree, sit and talk in a language that the tree just couldn't understand. She never saw the boy, just the girl. Every sun cycle, about the time when the sun was hottest, the girl would come, sit, and talk. Just talk.

Often, the tree wished that she could understand and speak the human tongue, so that she might offer the girl some kind words, some understanding. Because she remembered the girl's face. She remembered how much the little girl meant to her. And yet, she was simply a tree. Just a tree, standing on the top of a hill, with no one who cared for her accept the little girl.

One time, just once, she saw the boy. He stood off in the distance, a frown on his face and sadness in his eyes. And then he walked away. And the tree never saw him again.

And so, summer would fade into autumn, and then would come winter and spring, and autumn again. But the tree had no knowledge of this.

It was just a simple passage of time. And time didn't bother her. It was an insignificant part of life.

Sometimes, the tree would try and remember the Past Life. She would focus on the face of the girl and try to remember what her voice sounded like, to the old ears, not the ears of the tree. But the girl was just a face, and how she looked to the tree now, not in the old days. She couldn't even remember her name. And it hurt. She had been important to the tree. And the tree couldn't even remember the name.

Sometimes, the tree would try and remember the Past Life. She would focus on the face of the boy and try to remember what his voice sounded like, specific words he had said. But it was only just the face. She couldn't even remember his name. And it hurt. He had been important to to the tree. And the tree couldn't even remember the name.

Sometimes, the tree would try and remember the Past Life. She would focus on the two faces together and try to remember the adventures they had shared. Occasionally, she got the ghost of a smile, the ghost of a laugh, the ghost of some funny story often shared. But most often, it was just the important, nameless faces.

Because the tree couldn't remember the names.

The tree would feel guilty, occasionally, because she had almost forgotten her friends. Her only friends. The friends she saved before turning into a tree. Her friends. They were so important to her, and yet she couldn't remember the names.

It sank the tree into despondency. All because she couldn't remember the names of her friends.

And then, with a shuddering gasp of breath, she had fallen from the tree and turned back into a girl.

And she could remember the names.

Annabeth.

Luke.

Friends.


End file.
